


A Crack In The Heart Of A Prince

by FinnScathach



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnScathach/pseuds/FinnScathach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Sensing treachery, Horatio begs to be able to take Hamlet's place in the final duel with Laertes, and thus dies in his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous request from Tumblr, this tickled my Hamlet fancies, so here it is. Hamlatio angst and death. This is a short opening chapter... I don't yet know how long this'll be. Not very. Probably around three chapters this length, but I can't say yet.

Osrick, having brought the challenge, departed, and Horatio turned to Hamlet.

“You will lose this wager, my lord,” he said.

“I do not think so. I have been practicing hard since Laertes left for France, and I believe I can beat him.”

“Hamlet, I…”

“Do not fear. It is hardly a fight to the death. It is a duel for sport, for competition.”

“Then there is no shame in turning it down.”

The prince looked at him, and noted the drawn look about his face, and how his forehead was furrowed in a frown that quite distorted his features. “I do believe you are truly afraid, Horatio.”

“If you will not forego the fight, let me fight it for you,” he begged.

At that, Hamlet mirrored his frown. “I cannot. I have accepted.”

“Claudius, your mother’s husband, has chosen a champion to fight against you. Why may you not choose a champion to fight against his?”

He placed one hand on Horatio’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “If I were to choose a champion, Horatio, it would certainly be you. But I have agreed to do this.”

“Then we will tell them you are not fit. You are ill, you are mad, you are…”

“Do not dream of it. If I am to lose now, then at least I will not lose later. And if I do not lose now, there is always the possibility of losing later. What happens will happen one day.” He spoke earnestly to his friend, but the troubled look did not leave Horatio’s face. “Let it be.”

“No.” Horatio’s jaw jutted forward in his determination. “If you do not allow me to fight it for you, I shall inform them that you are not well enough to fight, and insist that it is postponed.”

“Everything I have done has been postponed.” Hamlet strode away, frustrated. “Every action I take is postponed until it is too late. Why should this follow that pattern?”

But Horatio offered no explanation for his uneasy feelings. “Please. Allow me to be your champion.”

Hamlet hesitated, and walked back over to his friend, clasping his upper arm as he searched Horatio’s face for his reasoning. Finding nothing there, he sighed. “It goes against my better judgement, but perhaps there is reason for your apprehension. I consent—but you must promise me, Horatio, that you will not allow yourself to become endangered.”

“I would do nothing for you that you would not do for me,” Horatio replied, and left the room. As his footsteps retreated, Hamlet looked down at the floor.

“That, my friend, is what worries me so.” But he spoke only to empty air.


	2. Taking Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second, short chapter (they will all be short. I hope you don't mind). I am taking some dialogue from the original, though often changing who speaks it (to reflect the fact that Horatio is now duelling, and Hamlet observing). Other passages I have paraphrased to make them simpler and easier to understand, or completely rewritten. There are also new bits, to accommodate changes.

Hamlet watched with growing apprehension as Horatio shook hands with Laertes, whose expression upon learning of the change in plans was enough to make him fear for his friend’s life. Something was wrong.

“Before we begin,” he said, stepping forward so that he addressed the challenger directly, “I am most sorry for the ill that has befallen you due to my own actions. But I absolve myself of guilt, for I did not take these actions—madness did. The madness that controlled me is to blame, and not I. I am a victim here, too.” He did not have to turn to know that Horatio would be rolling his eyes, and fighting a small smile, he continued: “Yet still I must apologise, for I fear I have caused you pain.”

“I am satisfied, my lord,” Laertes responded. “But I cannot allow my honour to be dismissed, and I will avenge it. Yet I accept your apology as it is.”

“My dear Hamlet, your champion stands in your place?” Claudius spoke politely, but Hamlet detected an undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice that he had seen also in Laertes.

“That is so. For in my madness I have neglected my training, and I am not fit to fight.”

“I accept this amendment.” The tremor in his voice told Hamlet that perhaps he wished he could find some excuse not to.

The two took foils, Horatio carefully examining the length of his before nodding and swinging it experimentally for a moment. Laertes took a little more time, before swapping it for another.

“You are, of course, aware of the wager,” said Claudius in a friendly manner to Hamlet.

“Well aware, my lord,” he responded, containing his anger at being spoken to in such a friendly manner by the uncle he detested. “Yet I fear you have laid odds on the side most likely to lose.”

“That is not my fear. Horatio is a fair champion.” _That he is._ Hamlet squashed the thought lest it show on his face. It would not do for Claudius to be aware of yet another weakness of his. “I confess, however, that I made it with you in mind.” 

Then I am sorry to have disappointed you. My good Horatio did insist and I believe he is right to have concerns over my fitness to complete this task, for I am not the swordsman I once was.” He watched the two fighters warm up for a moment, and when he turned back, Claudius had poured wine into two cups and handed one to him, a benign smile looking alien on his face.

“Have you a thirst?”

“Not as yet. I refreshed myself before leaving my rooms. I’ll set it aside until the first bout has been played.” Claudius looked disappointed. _Why does it matter to him if I drink? There is no reason for his kindness._ “Come, good Horatio. Stop swinging that sword around at the thin air and show us what you can do.”

“Gladly, my lord.”

The two combatants faced each other, and as the trumpet flourish finished, they began to fence, the bright metal of the foils shining as the afternoon sunlight poured through the windows of the throne room. They were well-matched, almost the same size and similar in fighting style, but Hamlet thought—if forced to choose—he would have given Horatio the edge.

 _Is that any surprise? If ever asked to choose, it will always be Horatio that I choose. And yet I am obliged to keep such things a secret, lest my uncle exploit it for his own gain._ He blinked away the bitter thoughts, and turned to watch as the duel progressed.


	3. Foiled Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A third chapter. Here, more of the dialogue is original, though it is of course changed to reflect who is speaking it; some is missing and there is more description (obviously, given that the original is a play and this is not). I haven't actually edited this since writing--it's basically a first draft--so please, do point out any errors or improvements that could be made.

Barely a minute had passed before Horatio crowed, “One!”

“No,” protested Laertes. “That was not a hit.”

“Judgement?” Horatio turned to Osrick, who stood to the side to referee the match.

“A hit, a very palpable hit,” said the young man, somewhat nervously.

“Well, again.” Laertes raised his foil, waiting for Horatio to echo the action. He glanced towards Hamlet first, as though for confirmation, and the prince nodded.

For a moment all was silent but for the clink of the foils. “Another hit,” said Horatio, lowering his foil to look at his friend. “What say you?”

Laertes spoke quickly before any of the spectators could offer judgement. “A touch, a touch. I do confess it.”

“Your champion shall win, Hamlet!”

“That is my hope,” he responded. “For he is the only champion I have ever had, and to see him lose would be a poor reflection upon my taste.” He smiled privately to see the faint confusion on their faces.

“I have a thirst,” his mother announced, and sweeping over to where Hamlet stood, took the cup that Claudius had earlier given to him. “You do not mind?”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Gertrude, do not drink.” The urgency in Claudius’s voice, however he tried to hide it, was palpable, and Hamlet could not identify the expression that crossed the queen’s face as she lifted the cup to her lips.

“I will, my lord. And I beg your pardon for it.”

Claudius, his face now anguished, turned to one of his attendants and muttered something that Hamlet did not catch, but his attention was caught by the continuing duel between Horatio and Laertes.

“Will you hit me yet, Laertes?” jibed Horatio. “You are still playing. Come, let me see some spirit. You are going easy on me.”

“Is that what you think?” Laertes raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Come on.” The duel intensified.

It seemed to Hamlet that he had seen a hit, but when he glanced to Osrick the referee confirmed, “Nothing either way.”

“Have at you now!” The shout came from Laertes, and he glanced back at the two to see that now they were wrestling, all but abandoning the foils in their hands. In the scuffle, it was almost possible that they had switched swords, for he was certain the inlay on the hilt now in Horatio’s hands had been on Laertes’ sword a moment before.

“Part them,” said Claudius. “They are too angry. This must not continue.”

“No, all is well,” Horatio protested. “Again!”

But it was then that the queen fell to the ground, her dress billowing around her as she struggled to right herself. Her eyes, when she looked up at Hamlet, were wide and imploring.

_She cannot have been taken ill_ , he thought.  _It is not overwarm in here, nor is there any sickness in the palace that might cause such a collapse._ Something was wrong. He had known it from the very start, from the moment the challenge came. Horatio had, too, and his damned decisiveness had led him to take action. _But I, I can do no such thing. And now, as always, others suffer. My mother among them._

"Hamlet." Could that be her voice? It was quiet. Quieter than it had any right to be.

Hamlet hesitated, and hated himself for it.


	4. Laertes Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, second to last chapter.

“They are here, Hamlet.” Laertes spoke wearily, and Hamlet fancied there was true regret in his voice. “Horatio is already slain—no medicine can help him now. It is perhaps but half an hour until you die, sir.”

Horatio, who had paled, fought visible for control of his emotions. “How can this be? It is but a scratch.”

“The sword in your hand is envenomed. I did not think this deceit would turn itself on me, but I am poisoned too, by your own hand.” He looked to Hamlet once more: “Your mother is poisoned, and I can do nothing else. The King—the King is to blame.”

“The sword was poisoned too?” he said, furious at the possibility that he would lose Horatio too. “Then, venom, do what you were made to do.” And snatching the foil from his friend, he wounded Claudius.

“Treason!” came the cry from those watching. “Treason!”

Claudius, however, did not seem so concerned. “Save your breath. I am but hurt.”

Yet Hamlet was not satisfied. Next to his mother was the cup that killed her, and he picked it up with almost reverent care. “Here, murderer. Drink this.” Claudius turned his face away; Hamlet took hold of his chin and forced him to open his mouth, pouring the potion down his throat. “If you loved my mother so, follow her now.”

Moments later, Claudius gave a rattling gasp and collapsed.

Hamlet looked on the body dispassionately. This was the result he had strived for, and yet he could feel nothing at it. _My mother is dead and Horatio is dying,_ he thought. _What have I achieved here, but more misery? Denmark is safe but I have no family._

“He is justly served.” Laertes’ voice interrupted his thoughts. “It is his own poison. Hamlet, forgive me as I forgave you. My death and my father’s death are not your fault—not is your death mine.”

Before Hamlet could reply, Laertes, too, had closed his eyes. He looked almost to be sleeping, yet the pain on his face did not suggest pleasant dreams.

 _I have admired Laertes so and yet he fears what awaits him. What, then awaits me?_ Hamlet found himself almost paralysed by his contemplation of the death that surely would destroy him. _What dreams await me? What nightmares shall I endure?_


	5. Cracks

“Hamlet.” The voice was Horatio’s. Leaving Claudius’ corpse to hurry over to his friend, Hamlet knelt down beside him and put his arms around him, holding him upright. “I am dead, Hamlet.”

“And with you, I die too.”

“No. If you die then there is no one to tell the story of your family’s demise. Hamlet, you are the last of the line. The throne of Denmark is yours now.”

Hamlet swiped angrily at the tears welling up in his eyes. “I am no more a king than my uncle was. I am a man of no action, and I cannot rule.” His gaze fell upon the cup, a dreg of the wine still shining in the bottom. “There is some wine left.”

“No.” Horatio, weakened by the poison, tried to take it from him. “Give me the cup. Let it go. By heaven, I will not see you drink that on my behalf! Oh God, Hamlet, I do not like to leave you when all is so uncertain. But if you ever held me in your heart…”

“You know nothing, Horatio, but that I did.”

“Let me speak. If you loved me, do not allow yourself to fade away. Your future is your own and there are none to stop you.”

_And there are none to help, either. My father, my mother, Ophelia … oh, God, Ophelia, that I could have loved you if you loved me, that I could have explained why my heart could never be yours… but you would not have understood, and you are dead too, because I chose my Horatio over you. And what became of that? He dies in m y arms and you are gone._

“I’m dying, Hamlet.” Horatio’s voice was barely more than whisper. “This poison is too strong for me. I will not live to hear the news from England, but I would that I had the power to put you on the throne with my dying breath.”

“That you want me there is coronation enough for me,” Hamlet replied.

Horatio looked up as he drew a final breath. “The rest,” he said, and met Hamlet’s eyes, “is silence.”

As he became limp, Hamlet bit his lip to prevent the sob from escaping, but he could no longer contain his tears. _I am a weak man, perhaps, but there is no shame_. He planted a kiss on his friend’s forehead, and then, because there was no longer anybody alive to care, another on his lips, now so cold and quite unlike the lips he had kissed in the past.

“And now my heart cracks,” he whispered. “Good night, my good Horatio. I will not be long in following, I think. May flights of angels sing you to your sleep.”

_The greatest nightmare, I think, has already been lived._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the rest ... is silence.


End file.
